My creative side is most often tied to a keyboard. It took me a while to adjust to the foreign layout, and now when I try to switch the language settings, the letters tumble out in the wrong order.
Be it a short recap, a little experiment, an essay or a dissertation, it comes to life through the movement of these fingers as they press the keys on my laptop or another computer whose use I borrowed.
I sometimes doodle, or write by hand, and at times I feel like sticking things to a canvas, or using a hook to turn skein to toys. But mostly, it’s the keyboard and me, accompanied by songs and tunes, a mug or two, and my comfy-for-an-hour-or-so chair. So I move to sit on the floor, or lie down on my bed, and I might take a nap. If I can silence my mind enough to switch off. Sometimes, I have should in my head, shut up and go to sleep.
I always envied pianist, the way they can control their fingers to move so swiftly and elegantly, to make their two hands do different things, and give birth to music. And then I realised, my hands over the keyboard move in various directions, and as long as I know what I’m trying to make appear on my screen, the movements come without having to think about where the f or the k is. If I tried real hard, I might be able to recite the sequence of letters, but only if I imagined typing out words that include those letters. It’s weird, this mind.
Sometimes, I like silence, the ticking of my clock spurring me on, tick, tock, you can type faster, tick, can’t you? Tock. Other times, it’s the many random playlists I embark on as I chose just the one song, and yet another time I might pick a ballad or a compilation specifically.
If I could, I would dump my mind on a page. Or a hundred.
Get a brush and swirl it around until the colours mix and I no longer see shades of yellow and orange, but a colour of sunrise after the Northern Lights which I never had the chance to glance.
I don’t know where my fingers take me. Sometimes, it’s a feeling, and I start with a blank document, and it becomes bigger, and I show it to someone and I get a wow, amazing, and it discourages me from trying it again.
This is my life. Even if it takes a shape I never saw or felt. Even if it tells of stories I never lived and shared. Even if it goes to places I never dared, if it includes hopes I could never have. Even if I can safely say, it is more me than what you would ever see looking into my eyes on our wedding day.
This is my story, even if it never has my name on it.
This is not for your amusement.